A Ghostly Tale: Book 2 PREVIEW (Ttitle TBA)
by jojo-dojo
Summary: Book 2 preview is out now! Sorry for the hiatus, read the notes on the document, it'll explain! But here's the first chapter/first draft of the sequel to A Ghostly Tale: Spellbound!


Hey guys! SO! THE PREVIEW IS OUT FOR BOOK 2 HOORAY! I'm BEYOND excited for you guys to read it and see this early release/first draft of it! Sorry for the hiatus, long story short - my computer broke and I lost pretty much everything, but I was blessed to have it all get back safe and sound! I'm nearly done with Spellbound, but there's just a little bit more to bring to life before I can release it to the public eye! SO here's to the preview, hope you guys love it!

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Fall's cool breeze and fallen leaves below from every direction in Boston, Massachusetts. People were rushing every which way in and out jobs, meetings and the every day hustle everyone seemed to take part in. Taxies honked and hooted, hot dog stands began brewing up mystery meat from frozen, steel containers, and dogs ran amuck along the alley ways, chasing stray cats, who dug their way into the filthy, restaurant dumpsters. The Cavern, which was closed from the outside world on Sundays, due to the owner's strict religious beliefs, was quiet and cold, with the windows closed and the shutters blocking the view. Just the was Whiskey, and her pals liked it.

Whiskey floated alone observing the scenery, used to a bumbling crowd of people, now an empty wasteland. She looked at the locket she'd stowed away from prying eyes. She tried her best to recall any information she had stowed away in the back of her memory, but like herself, they faded a little more everday. She ran her hand across the bullet wound on her chest. Sometimes she'd recall a few glances of memories past. But still, nothing came except a few colors and shapes. All she'd ever been able to piece together was the stories that floated around the bar, carried on from person to person. But it was just no use, no matter how many stories she'd heard, nothing rang a single bell. A loud rattle and key fidget at the front door, startled her so bad, that she dropped the locket right onto the floor beneath her.

"What a dump." She heard a nasally, woman's voice from behind the front door. "I've seen dumpsters with more class than this old barn."

"Yes but _do_ notice the architecture, it's over a hundred years old! It's been able to withstand years of construction and weather, anything that would drive any other building to the ground!" A loud voice talked almost too fast for Whiskey to understand.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Let's just get inside and get out. I've got a follow up appointment with Dr. Gold at three. This _so wasn't_ the nose I was promised in the brochure." The woman snarled.

"Yes, er right away, we'll be in, in a jiffy—if this damn key will work…" The loud voice hissed in frustration. He fobbed with the lock let out a nervous laugh. Finally, Whiskey heard a loud click, and the door slowly opened with a loud _creak_. She immediately made herself disappear into thin air before she could be seen. She watched closely from behind the bar, her nose peaking on the top of the dusty wooden surface.

She spotted—at the front door— a tall, skinny man with olive skin and a very unusually large nose.

 _Oh god, this quack again._

Two figures stood next to him, with the exact same mannerisms. Both had platinum blonde hair and shimmering blue eyes. A scowl shown wide on both of their pale faces. Each looked like the opposite gender of each other. Twins? Identical, evil twins? Whiskey studied them closer.

"And here," the tall, slim man with the big nose and even bigger slab of jet black hair sitting atop his head—Formally known as Ted Chavez, and known by Whiskey as the worst real-estate agent in the _world_ — escorted his next two victims across the large dining are, where the tables resided. He gestured towards them. "er, _lady_ and _gent_ ," He chuckled nervously. "we have the famous, 'Crate Cavern', in its _mostly_ original prime. Notice the dining area," He beamed at the gathering of beer stained tables. "And the stage, used for entertaining." He smiled widely as if he were being monitored under close observation. "It's been through a few changes here and there. Throughout the late 1800's and early 1900's, it was owned by a long chain of members of the Radcliffe Family name. The last one to own it, was the youngest daughter."

Whiskey's interest was piqued. According to Wanda, she _was_ , apparently the last Radcliffe to own the bar.

"The locals still ponder and mourn her sudden death." She found her hand grazing over her chest again.

Chavez bowed his head and respect, then bounced back into his perky self within mili-seconds. Whiskey was very unamused, she'd seen this act before. Many _, many_ times "After her death, the bar was bought and sold to the Stormont family — that's you guys — in 1913." He informed them. The two buyers that stood in front of him, looked around with mild curiosity and bored expressions.

Now, Whiskey had heard countless stories about Sylvester and Sylvia Stormont and their never ending efforts to get their grimy hands on their parents money. But now, they stood before her, in the flesh, trying to steal from her.

"We've heard this story about a million times." Sylvia Stormont— of only twenty-two years old — took in the atmosphere around her. "The old hag was shot and killed during a women's rights protest in the 'dark ages'." She air quoted half heartedly and crossed her arms, pompously. Whiskey stomach dropped about a hundred feet. The locals came up with a gathering of different tall tales of how she kicked the bucket—prostitution, gang violence, hitmen etc. But never had they mentioned protesting, not even Wanda. It seemed like a much more worthy and heroic way to die. Even so, the more answers she had, the more the questions began to flood into her mind.

Sylvester spoke up and interrupted her train of thoughts. She huffed and squinted.

"What's the damage, Mr. Chavez?" He inquired, pushing back his overly gelled, white hair. He sported a strapping blazer, spoke up with a monotone voice, and looked almost as unamused as his sister. Chavez hesitated and looked around.

"Well, technically, the price would be a quarter of a million, for its rather beautiful structure, design and historic value. But, in recent years it's found itself on the lower, since it resides here, in the—less economically and unstable side of town. Profits have more recently to almost nothing."

 _What the hell?_ Whiskey thought to herself. She was completely unaware of the bar's slow decline. The bar was the town favorite, no question. Entertaining and being crowded almost every night for years… It had to be worth more than that…surely. But she knew that nothing would be able to prepare her for the possibility that the bar could shut down and drown right before her eyes.

"So you're saying, that this lousy piece of property has no value at _all_?" The girl said, looking at her brother with a cocked eyebrow and pursed red lips.

"That's certainly the way it looks." Sylvester said, snickering.

"Fucking pricks." Whiskey snarled, quickly covering her mouth out of fear that her cover had been blown. Chavez turned abruptly her way in a small panic. The twins gazed lazily in her direction.

"This place is worn and tired. Even the shudders and walls are getting tired of it." The girl said. Chavez slowly turned his attention back to the twins and relaxed his shoulder

"Well not _nothing_ ," Chavez said quietly, looking around. "Come closer." He waved his hand frantically. "The most value it gets, is from interest regarding this bar's mysterious, er, _inhabitants._ " He lowered his voice to almost a whisper. _Inhabitants? Whiskey_ thought. She was the one who owned the bar, everyone else were guests, as far as she was concerned.

"What the hell are you talking bout?" The brother said rather obnoxiously.

Chavez hesitated and curled his fingers, doing a double take.

"Tourists in the area have reported multiple times, seeing shadowy figures, things moving out of place, and cold spots throughout the property. Especially at night."

 _Yep, that's us._ Whiskey thought, almost laughing to herself.

"Bull _shit_." The girl said. "Ain't no such thing as ghosts."

 _Shows how much you know, princess._

"Oh I wouldn't be so sure of that, Miss Stormont. "That's how this place got it's name."

"I don't follow." The man said.

"Like I mentioned earlier. The "Mistress" as they like to call her; she was the last living relative in the Radcliffe family fortune, became a legend, so they say, as she pried away the bar from her greedy brothers and abusive father who'd claimed ownership after he mother passed away. The locals cleverly titled it, 'The Mistress Cavern.'"

 _I did that?_

"I think we can run it better than some old hag." Whiskey was close to blowing her top and releasing her wrath on these spoiled brats. But she kept her calm and listened carefully.

"On the contrary, Miss Stormont. She was the youngest business woman in her time. It was quite a terrible tragedy. But some say," He looked around. "she never actually left." The air surrounding them suddenly grew colder.

"Is that so?" The girl said.

"But there's more, an apparition that plays the piano to entertain guests, and an aristocratic lady who wanders the halls and a few others, that staff have been unable to identify. Although the appear to be friendly, nonetheless spooky and unwelcoming."

 _Classic Ivory, always the show off._

"If there really is something here, we'll get a priest or something. Father Abraham from the church uptown." The girl said yawning.

 _Not like people have tried before. No damn priest is kicking me out of my own house._

"I've never heard of a ghost haunting ruble," The young man said snickering, only to quickly recompose himself. Chavez shifted uncomfortably and fumbled with his clipboard.

 _No, it's—it's not true._

"May I remind you this is one of the oldest buildings in Southern Boston," He stuttered. "Perhaps you should reconsider—"

"It's our parent's building, they left it in _our_ name," Sylvia inched closer poking Chavez's chest harshly. "so _we'll_ do whatever _we_ want with it." Chavez stumbled backward slightly and readjusted his glasses.

"Of course, of course." He laughed nervously.

"This town is on the verge of an economic boom. This bars old and ragged appearance simply cant keep up with the growing modern business industry." Sylvester glanced at his fingernails and sighed. "A strip mall however, provides more jobs and more money. Which of course will, _of course_ go towards the growth of the Stormont family fortune." Chavez nodded rapidly.

"Yes sir, anything you need sir."

"We're _helping_ people. This old and sorry excuse for an entertainment joint is only fueling the drunk drivers and contributing to the rapidly increasing crime rate. We'll order in for a team to help us, _redecorate_." He looked towards his sister casually. "I'll have our assistant send over the blueprints immediately." Chavez looked at them uncomfortably and clung to his clipboard.

"But sir, you can't just—"

"Thank you for your time, Chavez. But if you'll excuse us," He and his sister turned towards the front entrance and proceed to exit, but Todd stopped in his tracks, hand on the door. "Chavez, you better get that heater up and running. We can't afford _another_ problem that can be fixed with… _better_ management." Whiskey's face grew a bright shade of red out of rage. As they exited she heard Sylvester mutter, "My hands are like _ice._ " And was left Chavez 'alone' in the old bar, his nerves clearly on edge.

 _The only ones making it cold in here are you two heartless turkeys._ Charlie huffed.

"What have I gotten myself into…?" Chavez sighed and proceeded to exit out the back door quickly, unnerved by the sudden change in temperature. Almost, but not quite aware of the other one in the room, hanging onto every single word.

Whiskey's chest puffed out and her thick eyebrows smudged together in a fit of rage. She knocked over a few bottles, huffing and puffing.

"Those dirty, sons of bitches." She hissed.

"Hey, hey, hey! What's gotten your panties in a wad, Miss Priss?" Foxy appeared behind her, yawning slightly.

Whiskey was almost too fumed to talk. She clenched her fists together and shook her head.

"They're tearing it down." She said quietly.

"Whose tearing what down, _baby_?" Ivory appeared by the piano and popped his knuckles slightly beginning to play.

"For Christ's sake Ivory, now is _not_ the time!"

"Damn, little lady. Always packin' a punch." He said flashing her with a large smile.

"What's all the yelling about?" Ruby emerged with a silk sleeping mask over her eyes, whining like a child who didn't get her way.

"Oh, nothing. Whiskey's just wiggin' out again." Foxy snickered.

"This _ain't_ nothing!" She snapped. "They're tearing down the whole goddamn bar!" She yelled. The entire room went silent and nobody dared to speak. That is, until Grimmy came floating down the stairs with a cross words puzzle in his hands.

"What's a four letter word for— oh, erm," His body as well as his voice shrank to the size of a mouse once he caught a glimpse of Whiskey's scowl and the rest of the worried faces hovering near the counter. "…Never mind." He squeaked.

Whiskey took a deep breath and folded her hands together, cracking her neck.

"Sylvia and _Sylvester_ payed us a visit today."

"The owner's kids?" Foxy crossed her arms with a cocked eyebrow.

"In the flesh. Couple of pricks, those two."

"What'd the hell they come for?" Ivory asked. He raised his hands slowly from the white keys and ascended into the air.

"Hellen and John passed away last night, and apparently left the bar, and the rest of their money to their kids." Whiskey said through gritted teeth. "Big fucking mistake."

"But, the Stormont's have always been peaceful folk, John was a historian for Christ's sake. He and Hellen wanted to keep the past alive around here. Literally." Ivory said. "It's a sad day when folk like that croak. Never thought I'd see the day. Specially after taking care of this place for so long; lettin' us stick around." He bowed his hat in respect of the newly diseased.

"And were good for more than entertaining the brutes that come waltzing in!" Whiskey exclaimed. "I keep it _running_! This place would for damn sure be in crumbles if I weren't here to keep it from hitting the ground!"

"I don't know, _Wanda_ might be giving you a run for your money." Foxy cocked her hip slightly.

"Oh my god. They'll fire Wanda!" Whiskey gasped. "Lord knows she can't hold another job. She was _made_ for this place!"

"Been workin' here for some twenty years," Ivory shook his head in a defeated manor.

"Those sewer rats are ascendents from hell… And now that they've got control of the money _and_ the bar." She leaned over the bar, propping herself on her elbows and rubbing forehead. She muttered from a concealed face, "They're gonna blow this place to pieces." The party murmured to each other. Ruby tried composing herself, one hand on her chest, and the other, finger tips a bright red, across her mouth. Foxy blew away a strand of hair away from her eyes.

"It's the sign of the times." She looked at the ground beneath her crossed arms.

"Where," Grimmy spoke up nervously. "Where are we supposed to go?" They all looked sorrowfully at Grimmy and turned their attention toWhiskey, hoping for a plan, or some kind of answer.

"We're not going _anywhere_." She said lifting herself up and pulled the leaves of her corset pantsuit up to her elbows, and the atmosphere began to lift.

"You heard 'em cupcake. Their gonna tear down the bar. We have to find another place to go." Ivory said.

"Maybe we could go to Fiji!" Ruby clapped her hands together excitedly. "Oh it would be such fun!" She squeaked. "I've heard the locals and the beaches are just to _die_ for. Er— no pun intended."

"I could hang around the abandon box cars on the railroad," Grimmy said. "Wouldn't be a bad place to live."

"My old diner probably wouldn't mind if I crashed for a year or two, or twenty…" Foxy crossed her arms indifferently.

"So that's it? You're _all_ just gonna up? Over some stupid kids? The day those siamese freaks and that _bastard_ Chavez pry this bar from my hands, will be the day when witches take charge of Boston." She pounded her fist in her palms and straightened her shoulders. "Are you bozos just gonna sit on your lazy asses and give up the place we've called home for almost a century?" She glanced at Grimmy. "Give or take a few years." She smiled kindly at his flushed cheeks.

"What were you expecting? There's nothing we _can_ do!" Foxy snapped at Whiskey. She looked a bit taken out, as the calmest and most collected ghoul to bursted out in anger. "Just give it up, already."

"Yeah, don't get upset at us for accepting what we can't control." Grimmy said.

"I'm not angry. Just _disappointed_. Thought you's would be better than this." She furrowed her large eyebrows together crinkling her nose slightly.

"Whiskey, be rational. What can we possibly do? Besides sit and hope their plans fall through? We're ghosts. Nothing less, nothing more." Grimmy set down his crossword puzzle and dull pencil onto the counter next to him. Whiskey sighed and grabbed her apron from the rack and tied it around her waist tightly accentuating her curvy figure.

"We fight for our home. At least, _my_ home. We're gonna make their lives a living hell. A shit hole or whatever you wanna call it."

"Oh come _on_. I'm a _waitress_ , not some kind of—spiteful spook!" Foxy said propping her wait the barstool. "It's so cliche. I'm not wasting my time here."

"Fine. Then you can sleep in the kitchen of you're old filthy diner. Maybe in the sweaty booths or the tables with gum stuck to the tables. Spend your days around greasy food and screaming little shits. But that's _your_ choice." Whiskey went about her business with a notepad and pen.

"Wull, when you put it _that_ way… I guess I could scare one or two people." She shrugged nonchalantly and fiddled with her tail bashfully.

"I can play some spooky music on the piano," Ivory offered. "Something in the minor key!"

"No, no, you're not thinking big enough!" Whiskey raised her hands in the air in a wide 'V' shape. "Chances are, with construction, there won't be that many customers. Even the regulars." She thought for a moment. "We have to think bigger, more sneaky and clever. Just enough to drive them crazy…"

"Break all the windows?" Foxy offered.

"Leave ectoplasm on the floors so they'll trip? Maybe break a few bones?" Ivory snickered at his own concoction.

"We's got to scare them shitless, but in subtle ways before we bring out the big guns. Think slight apparitions. Touches, make ourselves known and let 'em know they aren't welcome."

"I could seduce that handsome young fella, that way he'd never want to leave, or get rid of me." Ruby said proudly, folding her hands together.

"Hold it there, Mrs. Robinson." She scratched her chin and thought. "By the time we're finished with those two headed dragons, they'll wish they'd never stepped foot in the Cavern." Whiskey shot a wicked smile to her colleagues and rubbed her hands together. "This will be a week to remember."


End file.
